Sick of This Life
by Lost-in-Confusion
Summary: What do you do when you love someone, but they don't love you in return, that they're using you? What do you do when your hope is slowly fading, when you can't think straight anymore? When you want to embrace the darkness?


**Title:** Sick of This Life

**Authoress:** The Dark's Desire

**Rating:** M (just to be safe)

**Warning:** Dark!Harry, character death, and language, also mention of malexmale sex and masturbation.

**Note(s):** The poem in this story is one I wrote myself. I was very upset and ticked when I wrote it, as well as when I wrote this fic. If anyone wants to use my poem in any of their stories: EMAIL ME AND LET ME KNOW! ASK PEOPLE! Also, if anyone sees this poem in a story, let me know. Well, here ya go!

**Disclaimer:** Roses are red, Violets are blue, Pettigrew is hott and Fudge is too. If any of you think this verse is true, you wouldn't believe me if I told you.

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**Sick of This Life**

_My heart is filled with so much pain_

_Each day I almost drown_

He had known it wouldn't last long. He had known that the other boy could never love him, because all he felt was lust. He had known, and yet he couldn't help but get attached to that warm body, the silver hair that was so soft it rivaled a cloud, and those cold eyes that always seemed to shine defiance. Each time they met to do our dance, whether it be in a broom closet, his Head Boy room, or the Room of Requirement, he couldn't help but get a little more attached. And that just made it harder when that inevitable day came. He, Harry Potter, was dumped by the one person he loved the most, the Prince of Slytherin, Draco Malfoy. And even though he knew it had been coming, he couldn't help but feel hurt. Now everytime he saw the blonde haired angel, his heart felt like it would break, seeing his lips kissing those of the whore Parkinson, or that prat Zabini.

_My crystal tears fall down like rain_

_Never to reach the ground_

Each night, when the feelings became too much, he would climb to the astronomy tower and let the cold or warm air caress his bare skin, dropping his clothes so it can do it better, letting the air make love to him, make love like his blonde angel used to. And every night, crystalline tears fell from pain-filled emerald eyes and over the edge of the tower, carried away by the wind. Some nights he would go flying, also in the nude, again letting the wind caress him, with the aid of his broom. And again the tears would fall, but they would never reach the earth. They were always caught and carried away by the wind, as if it were trying to heal his broken heart.

_My eyes are cold and lifeless_

_As I lie here in my bed_

Hermione had commented earlier that his eyes had changed. That the fire that had once shone them was gone, the bravery and courage they had once radiated had disappeared. That night as he lay in bed, he answered her, though she would never hear. Of course they've changed. He's the one he loved the most. He's lost the one who gave him that fire, that bravery, and that courage. The one who had once ignited all three was gone and without him the truth was unveiled. Harry Potter was nothing without Draco Malfoy. But no one was willing to see. No one was willing to see that their savior had given up, that his strength was gone. And that was fine by him. As long as they left him alone.

_I'm trying to work through all the stress_

_But sometimes I wish for death_

The pressure was building up. Voldemort's attacks were becoming more and more frequent, and classes had more and more work for them. And he was trying his best to play the role the wizarding world had given him, the role of the perfect wizard who would one day vanquish the evil Dark Lord. But lately it has been harder for him to play that role. Lately he had found himself wishing that Voldemort would just come and kill him, so he wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore. More than once he had considered taking his own life, but then his love would consider him weak. And he couldn't have that.

_I can no longer take their taunting jeers_

_Nor their cruel harsh lies_

Before everything, before he had met Malfoy and before he even knew he was a wizard, he had been picked on. And always because he was different. He was too skinny, he was weak, and he was an orphan. It hadn't been fair, but he had put up with it, thinking that one day he would be able to get back at his tormentors, secretly practicing punching on a tree in the nearby park. But now...now he could no longer deal with the harsh words they spoke, the pranks they tried to pull on him, and the fights they tried to goad him into. And all because **_he_** was the one leading them. If it had been anyone else, he would have been able to handle it. But because he was leading the fights, the pranks, and the words, he couldn't. And all because he had fallen for his tormentor.

_I no longer cry those crystal tears_

_My eyes have long since dried_

Five months later, he still goes to the astronomy tower and the Quidditch pitch. However something is different. His crystalline tears, the evidence of his broken heart, no longer fall. No matter how much he wants to, he can't seem to cry. Guess he's cried so often that he could no longer cry. Maybe it's a sign. Maybe he's getting over Draco. But then, why is he still doing this? Why is he still going to the astronomy tower, thinking of his love, rubbing against the cold, unforgiving stone? Why is he still going to the Quidditch pitch, imagining Draco flying naked in front of him, allowing splinters to pierce his rock hard cock? He doesn't know. And that scares him. And yet still he does it. He even looks as the splinters pierce his skin, moaning at the sight of blood falling down the shaft. Maybe he no longer cries crystal tears. But he still cries pearl and ruby tears.

_My soul is bound by suffering_

_My heart is bound by pain_

Every day, he feels the hatred radiating from Draco, caused by the fact that his father is now dead. Dead because he failed to capture him, Harry Potter, and seduce him to the Dark side. The thought that Draco hates him, that he wants to kill him, only increases his pain, his suffering. His soul is crying out, begging anyone, anything, to help it. It doesn't care what; it only wants the suffering to stop. And his heart is also crying out. It's crying out in pain. Pain from losing the one person it cared about most; pain from the fact that it's beloved hates him.

_All four trapped in a continuous ring_

_Cracking under the strain_

At night he has the same dream. He's standing in the middle of a black circle, with four giant spheres placed at different intervals. There's a midnight blue one, a red one, a green one, and a purple one. Somehow, he can tell what each sphere is. The red one is his heart, since there are so many cracks in it, and a piece missing. The green one is his soul, since it seems to be bleeding. The purple one is pain, since he can hear the most horrible screams coming from it. And the blue one is suffering, the only one left. And lying on top of all four is a huge weight that seems to be flattening the spheres and cracking the ring. When he wakes up, he knows it isn't really a dream. He knows that it is really happening, inside his body. And the thought scares him.

_My hope is slowly fading_

_The candle burning low_

Months pass and he is slowly losing hope. Losing the hope that Draco will come back, the hope that someone will kill him, and the hope that he will be normal once more. I feel numb now, incomplete. Hermione and Ron have already abandoned him, saying they couldn't be friends with a hopeless case. They said they were sick of his moping. As if. They were scared of him. Scared of what he would become once his hope was completely gone. They wouldn't know what he would become though unless they stayed by him. But they didn't. They abandoned him, just like Draco, just like his fucking parents, and just like Dumblefuck.

_My love and warmth cascading_

_To he corners of my soul_

Each day he grew colder. His skin was still warm, but inside...inside he was freezing over, the cold wind inside blowing out the candle that was his hope. He no longer feels numb, but neither does he feel much of anything else. He no longer feels love. He no longer feels happiness. He no longer feels sadness. All he feels is hatred, and anger. Anger to the ones who abandoned him and hatred to the one who set him up to lose his heart. Well, the meddling old coot will get it soon. In the meantime, he might as well enjoy what he has. Like a pale body writhing beneath him, onyx eyes staring up at him in lust and desire, burning with passion and hatred, and black hair that he loves to tug so hard the other cries out in pain.

_I doubt light will ever come_

_To the darkness of my life_

A little before the end of seventh year, he finally came out. In more ways than one. He told the entire school that he was gay, and in turn the _Daily Prophet, _and he told them the secret he had been hiding for months. And he did it in the best possible way. He did it by killing Dumblefuck. It was so much fun to see the horror written on everyone's face as he used the killing curse on him. And announced that he was the Dark Lord's heir. After that, pandemonium. He thought about fifty died, including the traitors. And he didn't care. After all, he had no more light in his life. It was completely dark and he embraced it, making it his lover. And his other lovers, a certain Potion's master and Dark Lord, understood and fed the darkness.

_But that's okay my heart's the skin_

_And Darkness is the knife_

Now the wizarding world was under the rule of his husband, Voldemort. And at his side, he and his other husband, Severus Snape, ruled. The muggle world was completely gone. No muggles were left, not even the children. Oh how Harry had loved killing them, drinking and bathing in their blood, kissing the blood stained lips of his husband. Even the muggle-born wizards had died. And he was proud to say it was mainly due to him. After all, what else could one expect from Harry Potter-Riddle-Snape, the Boy-Who-Killed? And what happened to Draco? He had killed him as well. After fucking the living daylights out of him of course. He no longer needed the pathetic angel. He had more powerful allies now, ones that may not love him yet, but understand the insanity in him. And they encouraged and raised it. And so the wizarding world became the sole ruler of the world. And Harry Potter lost his heart, his love, and his light.

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**TDD:** well, there ya go, the darkest fic I've written yet. 

**Shigai:** you sure? Cause Angelo Caduto is pretty dark.

**TDD:** not the point.

**Shigai:** -rolls eyes- I'm sure.

**TDD:** I hope you guys liked this. I know I felt better after I wrote it. Oh, and is anyone willing to be my BETA? I want one so I can reassure myself of the chapters. Oh, and btw, the name of this poem is the same as the name of this fic. Adios!


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